Parallel
by Hawkeye116
Summary: [The tragedy of it all is that their paths are parallel—nearly the same but never touching] A different take on Aang and Zuko's relationship, discussing their immense similarities, their stark separation, and the tragedy of the gray space in between.


A/N: Written in response to the season premiere. It's a different take than what most people would do. Doesn't have many (if any) spoilers. It started out as an essay, sort of, but evolved in a piece told from the perspective of an uncommon narrator (that is to say, narra_tors_). Hope you like it. I think it's rather effective, IMHO.

Disclaimer: Avatar / mine

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Parallel

* * *

"Extending in the same direction, equidistant at all points, and never converging or diverging."

_"You know what the worst part about being born over a hundred years ago is? I miss all the friends I used to hang out with. Before the war started, I used to always visit my friend Kuzan. The two of us, we'd get in and out of so much trouble together. He was one of the best friends I ever had, and he was from the Fire Nation, just like you. If we knew each other back then, do you think we could have been friends too?"_

* * *

There are not so many differences between them, we think. We see their journeys move in parallel—from the onset, their troubles are so similar that it is hard to distinguish between the two. 

As time advances, as summer approaches, that hot, humid season that is both loved and hated, we witness their convergence. We see the grave decision they both must make: _power or love?_ And both choose power. We see one dream of being the other—he is terrified to believe that they are _not so dissimilar_ as he would like to think.

As the manipulative lies of a power-hungry monster seemingly redeem one, the other falls to his death, killed by the same hand that saves the first. And then, when we see the two again, they are fighting internally, suffering through emotional turmoil and horrible, sickening guilt. We see their rise from rock bottom. We behold their resurrection, a resurrection of life for both.

Both of their restorations to paradise are flawed, though—built upon lies, able to break at any second. While one is presumed dead and is yet alive, the other is in an unnervingly fragile position of power (having every he's wished for, more alive than he's ever been, but at the same time, dead). While one is alive again, the other finally dies. He loses the false dream he has been holding onto.

The tragedy of it all is that their paths are parallel—nearly the same but _never touching_.

Will they clash? Will they coexist? Will they become what they _should be_, barring any war that _should not_ exist, that _should not_ tear them apart?

We wonder. We hope. We can't know for certain. Because _we cannot control their fates_. We are powerless. We want to weep and plead for what should _rightfully be ours_, but we may not experiment with their lives.

We do not have power over spirits greater than ourselves.

In this crucial phase in history, we have no power at all. We may influence the outcome a little, perhaps—but we cannot choose their destiny. Their free will is sacred and something _beyond_ us. We must let them choose, and it is the most difficult thing we'll ever have to do, to sit and not do anything and be helpless.

We might pray, perhaps, but we have no one to pray to. Rather, _we_ are the ones prayed to. But we have no prayer. We must sit in silence and _watch_.

It is poignantly painful to do so. But we cannot go against the wishes of the very spirit of the planet. We dare not cross the Avatar, who is so intent on redeeming his past follies.

The Avatar is our world. And his future is our future.

We can do nothing but wait and linger in the purgatory of that unknown space between good and evil, drowning in the grayness of it all. We must wait for a judgment that we _cannot deliver_.

Their destiny is not ours to mold.

The tragedy of it all is that their paths are parallel—nearly the same but _never touching_.

And the gray expanse left in between shall always haunt us, and render us feeble and unable to judge, because we will never, never distinguish right from wrong in a space where there is only _power_.


End file.
